


gyakuten

by 2face



Series: McHanzo Week 2016 [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, McHanzo Week 2016, there's blood but i'm not sure it counts as graphic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8972485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2face/pseuds/2face
Summary: day 4: role reversalTwenty years ago, Blackwatch dismantled the Shimada-gumi, and Gabriel Reyes took the elder son as his protégé. Ten years ago, Jesse McCree finally freed himself from the Deadlock gang, losing his arm in the process. Five years ago, Overwatch fell. Four months ago, its agents were recalled.Some things never change.





	

The sun was high when Jesse McCree stepped through the door of the old bar off Route 66. It was nearly empty, save for a drunkard asleep in the corner, a man on a stool at the counter, and a lone omnic in a booth on the other side of the room.

Looked safe, but Jesse didn’t like being so deep in Deadlock territory. He was gonna get his money and book it, he told himself.

He slid into the booth with the omnic and reached under his serape for something in the pocket of his shirt.

“I’ve got it,” he said, holding a small computer chip between his first and middle fingers. “Give me my money and it's all yours.”

McCree didn’t usually work with omnics, for practical reasons more than anything else. Being good at reading facial cues was one of the myriad of reasons he had lived this long. These guys had nothing to go on. But the money on this job was worth going outside his comfort zone.

“I need to know it is legitimate,” said the omnic, “I need to see the serial number.”

McCree held out the chip so the number was visible. The omnic didn’t need to get closer to see the tiny digits, Jesse knew. The cameras he had for eyes could zoom in.

The lights on his faceplate blinked in a rotating pattern for a couple seconds before he said, “Check your account. You will find your money. Please.”

He held out a metal hand for the chip. Jesse let him wait while he pulled out his phone and checked his balance. Yeah, there it was. He tossed the chip across the table with a flick of his wrist.

“Thanks for your business, partner,” he said with a tip of his hat. The omnic took his chip and hurried out the door.

The sight of money made Jesse forget, momentarily, his plans to get the hell out of Dodge. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?

He ambled over to the bar and took a stool. “Whiskey. Neat.”

The bartender nodded in acknowledgement. Jesse’s gaze drifted to the man in the next stool over. He was nursing a _kamikaze_ , and had a hood that obscured his face.

The bartender was still pouring Jesse’s drink when a group of six men came bursting through the door. McCree didn’t have to turn around to know where this was going.

“Jesse McCree! We heard you were in town.”

Jesse sighed. He just wanted his drink.

The group was quickly surrounding him in his seat. They were decked out in black leather, and most patches of exposed skin were covered in tattoos. “You’re fucking ballsy comin’ back here,” said the man who had initially called out. He must be in charge, Jesse surmised. Not the biggest one, but he had the biggest mouth. “Deadlock hasn’t forgotten about you, McCree. The boss’d just _love_ to see ya.”

“That’s too bad,” said Jesse. “I was just about to get back on the road. Maybe I’ll catch him next time I come through.”

Bigmouth shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think there’s gonna be a next time.” He jerked his head, and one of his thugs moved to grab Jesse’s arm.

Jesse resisted, and in the struggle, they bumped into the other man at the bar, who hadn’t yet budged. His drink was knocked from his hands to the floor.

There was the crash of glass breaking on hardwood, and everyone froze. The man in the hood slowly rose from his seat.

“I was drinking that,” he said. He had an accent, Jesse noticed. Japanese?

“You shoulda moved, then, pal,” shot Bigmouth. “We’re just here for the cowboy. Back off and you won’t get hurt.”

There was a flash of movement, and at first Jesse wasn’t sure what was happening. The man who had grabbed him was thrown head-first into the counter, freeing Jesse’s arm. He instinctively reached for his Peacekeeper.

By the time he had it drawn, the hooded stranger had a blade at Bigmouth’s throat and was stepping on a third man’s neck with a carbon fiber heel. His hood had fallen, revealing a breathtakingly handsome man with graying temples.

One of the grunts still standing tried to go at the stranger from behind. A single shot rang out, and he crumpled, a new hole in his thigh. Jesse turned his gun on the remaining two goons as they were still reaching for their weapons.

“Up to you, boys,” Jesse said with a shit-eating grin. “You can leave now or get a couple’a bullets for yerselves. I know which I’d prefer, if I were you.”

The two grabbed their bleeding friend and bolted for the door.

Bigmouth gave a forced laugh, straining away from the sharp edge at his throat. “I dunno who you are pal, but Deadlock could use a guy like you. Help me bring McCree in, and the boss’ll pay good mon-”

The stranger cut him short, knocking him out cold with the butt of his blade. “You could not afford me,” he said brusquely. “And I am not your ‘pal.’”

He lifted his coat and slid the short blade into a sheath on his lower back. Jesse collapsed back onto his stool. He let out a low whistle as he took in the three unconscious bodies now littering the bar floor.

“Thanks fer yer help, partner. Saved me from havin’ to spill a whole lot more blood.”

The stranger turned to look at him. A sight for sore eyes, Jesse thought. An angel from heaven, maybe.

“You are Jesse McCree,” said the angel.

The recognition in the way he said his name made Jesse’s guard rise. “‘Fraid so.”

“The bounty on your head is significant. You have upset a great deal of powerful men.”

McCree’s fingers twitched on his Peacekeeper. “You a hunter?”

The stranger approached. He reached over the bar and took a swig of Jesse’s half-poured whiskey, ignoring the bartender still hiding behind the counter. “Not today.”

McCree shrugged and hesitantly holstered his gun. “Lucky break for me then.”

The stranger sat back down at the counter and helped himself to more whiskey. “I agree,” he said.

McCree took the opportunity to check him out properly, head to toe. Yup, still gorgeous.

“Fine pair a’ legs ya got there,” Jesse said shamelessly, gesturing to them with a nod of his head. “Whose bounty paid for those?”

The stranger gave a dry chuckle and ran a hand along one prosthetic shin.

“No one’s. These were courtesy of _Overwatch_.”

Jesse’s eyes widened. Pieces clicked into place. A _hero_.

He leaned in excitedly.

“I’ve heard whispers ‘bout a recall. That Overwatch is comin’ back.”

“I too have heard the rumors.”

“Well, are they true?”

The stranger was quiet for a moment. Then he tipped his glass back, emptying it. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“It is true. But I do not know if they would take me back.”

Jesse refilled his glass for him.

“Don’t see why not.”

“You do not know me. The things I have done.”

“Maybe not, but you sure seemed like a hero to me just now.”

The stranger just scoffed and took another drink.

“What about me? You think they’d take me?” McCree shrugged his serape over his shoulder, revealing empty space where most of his left arm should be. “I wouldn’t mind a pretty prosthetic of my own.”

The stranger looked at him carefully then, considering Jesse’s question far longer than he had expected him too. He’d thought he’d get a laugh, at best.

“If what I have heard about you is true, you have skill,” said the stranger finally. “The old Overwatch could have made you great. Perhaps this new one can too.” He finished his second glass. “Someone I once knew said the world could always use more heroes.”

He rose from his seat. Jesse was still processing what he had said.

“I am leaving. You should not linger either. The gang may be sending reinforcements.”

“Wait, wait.” Jesse grabbed him by his sleeve. “You know who I am. You got a name, partner?”

“Hanzo Shimada,” said the stranger, and he gave Jesse one final studious look. “Farewell, Jesse McCree.”

Jesse watched him leave, feeling a bit starstruck. Then he set to rummaging around in the Deadlock guys’ pockets until he found a wallet, and tossed it to the bartender who was finally peeking over the counter. The lush in the corner was still comatose.

The sun was hot on Jesse’s skin when he stepped back outside. A burn he had known all his life. Hanzo’s voice rang in his ears.

The world could always use more heroes.

 

-

 

Hanzo steeled himself as the white cliffs of Watchpoint: Gibraltar appeared out the transport window. He knew he was making the right decision, but stifling his doubts was a constant process. A calm, familiar voice came over the intercom as the machine landed.

“Welcome home, Agent Hanzo.”

“Thank you, Athena.” Home. Would this ever be home, the way Switzerland was? Like Hanamura?

“Agent Genji will be pleased to see you when he arrives.”

Hanzo balked as the transports doors lowered. “He responded to the recall?”

“Yes. The others were surprised as well. I should also inform you there is a new recruit here who has asked about you several times.”

“A recruit?”

“Yes. He claimed to have met you three weeks ago. I answered his questions so long as they did not pertain to anything classified.”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes in disbelief. It couldn’t really be-

“His call sign is ‘McCree.’”

Like the old adage, speak of the devil and he shall appear, McCree chose that moment to arrive at the hangar, looking much the same as he had when they met, cowboy hat and all. He appeared to have rushed there, judging by the flush on his cheeks and quickness of his breath.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I had a feelin’ you’d show up sooner or later.”

Hanzo all but forgot the luggage he was unloading and hastened over to the cowboy. “How did you get here?”

“Oh, I’ve got a few tricks, and a lil’ practice as a stow-away.”

“And they let you join?”

“Well, I ain’t filled out all the paperwork yet, but I showed the head honchos what I can do and they seemed impressed. I uh,” McCree cleared his throat, “might’a told ‘em you’d vouch for me too, if you’d be so kind.”

“You said that not knowing if I would return or not?”

“I told ya, I had a feeling.”

“I will. ‘Vouch’ for you.” McCree blinked, clearly surprised at Hanzo’s lack of hesitation. “I remember you saved me in that bar as well.” The surprise was quickly replaced with a warm grin.

“Ain’t you sweeter than a honeyed ham?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Come, help me carry my things to my quarters.”

McCree gave a snorting guffaw at the sudden orders, but eagerly jumped to task. “I met the good doctor,” he said as he lifted a bag over his shoulder. “She said she could set me up with a fancy new arm. I'm thinkin’: big-ass skull. Down the whole thing.”

Hanzo laughed as they left the hangar. “It would suit you.”

When he looked over at McCree again, he wasn't sure what to make of his expression. Something like awe, maybe.

“I’m real glad you’re here, Hanzo.”

Hanzo’s felt the slightest heat rise in his cheeks. What a strange man. “And I you,” he said, not meeting McCree’s gaze.

McCree laughed again. The future was as uncertain as it ever was, but Hanzo suddenly felt much less alone.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading.  
> find me on tumblr @ antivan-brandy.tumblr.com


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